11/28 by uliaj06

eighteen

Tate Woods

She's laying on me.

She's laying her fucking head on my lap.

We're on the second floor of this bookstore Ro wanted to go to. I let her wander to fuck knows where around the first floor, while I roam around the second.

To be honest, I needed to be anywhere she wasn't for a moment.

I needed a break.

Something was happening. I didn't know what it was. Maybe I was getting more comfortable with her, I don't know. But I did know I didn't like it.

I didn't think it was a damn children's place.

The nostalgia was too overwhelming to not wander around the place when I found out. It was weird thinking about it. Four years later and I've still managed to end up in the children's books.

Ro had – well apparently still does – a weird obsession with them, and of course she dragged me with her to come look at them every time we're around books.

And now, we've somehow managed to end up here.

Again.

If I'm being honest, I think she's starting to grow on me. I've been trying to keep my distance, emotionally wise, for obvious reasons, and for obvious reasons, it isn't working.

Trust issues, alright?

And yet here we are, sitting on the floor with her on my lap. Well, her head on my lap. We haven't gotten there.

My ass hurts, we're against shelves of books, and she's using this stuffed animal, a pig, that's obnoxiously bright pink, as a pillow on my lap.

I already know it's one of those that leave the fiber residue. Pink fuzz on my pants? Great.

She's laying horizontal, legs straight out, arms up holding the book in front of her face, reading me the 'If You Give a Mouse a Cookie' story. She just finished with the poems.

She's wearing this flannel and she's practically swimming in them since they're huge on her.

Again, nostalgia.

I still don't know why she chooses to wear them. I've always thought they looked ugly.

Until she wore them.

She used to wear her brothers' flannels back then too except now, she looks more... decent... with it on. Not that she wasn't decent back then, she's just more decent now. She knows how to style shit now. Obviously coming that she works in the fashion. Right? Fashion? Something in working with bagels.

She's probably a small, yet she chooses to wear a large. Does she do that on purpose? I don't get it. Maybe fashion. I don't know a fuck about that.

My legs are starting to go numb.

Who knows how long we've been here.

With her, I seem to lose track of time, which I don't do often. Time; very important in business. Very important in my life, always have been. I've been trained to never lose my sense of time, but this bitch, this fucking bitch makes me lose all sense that I have.

I don't even know who I am anymore.

I don't eat in cafes, and I certainly don't feed goddamn birds.

I also don't let people touch me, let alone lay on me, or hit me in the fucking head.

Who the fuck does that? Hits someone randomly in the fucking head without context? Who does she think she is?

Well, I guess she's Rowan.

It's easy though, being with her. Easy wasting time with her. Too easy it feels wrong.

Oddly, I don't mind her on me. My legs are getting fucking numb nonetheless.

One part of my brain's telling me to shove her off. Make her lay down on the ground instead, since my legs aren't her goddamn headrest.

But the other part, the other half of my brain, wants her to stay.

It'll be so easy to just shove her off, to push her off even. That part of my brain is yearning me to do it, making me want to, so fucking bad.

Yet, I stay still.

Completely still.

I don't know why. It's so easy to just shove her off, but I don't.

I guess my legs will just have to go numb.

My back starts to ache. I straighten it more, adjusting so it'll ease it away. She starts to move her head and I felt my heart skip a beat.

What was that?

Do I like her contact?

No. I can't.

She doesn't move away though.

I take a deep breath. It's because I'm uncomfortable, not because of relief.

She smells of lavender. I've been trying to figure it out all day.